


Treatise on the Nature of Gods and Friendship

by PFDiva



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Samot being a shit, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: Sometimes, even gods get bored.





	Treatise on the Nature of Gods and Friendship

“If I have to get dressed to do it, it’s not happening,” Corsica said by way of complaint at her co-ruler. She was applying scented oil to her wounds to keep them clean and fresh.

“Far be it from me to ask,” replied a voice that was emphatically not Ephrim.

Corsica whirled on the intruder in a rage, more than ready to give them a very thorough tongue-lashing.

She found God-King Samot very deliberately staring at her face, an amused smile stretching his light-scarred lips. She hadn’t even caught him staring anywhere inappropriate. She was in the wrong here, and she flushed with displeasure to realize it.

“My lord.”

“My lady,” he politely responded, dipping his head in greeting without lowering his eyes. Then he politely turned his back. Corsica suddenly remembered that Ephrim was away from the university and felt even more embarrassed.

“Lord Ephrim and I are close friends,” she told Samot by way of explanation, “He’s also not in the habit of knocking when he enters my rooms.”

“My apologies,” he replied, and even sounded sincere, “It seems we’ve both lost track of things in this moment. Days bleed together for me, recently, until I don’t know the time and disturb people preparing for bed.”

Corsica shrugged on a shirt and pants, fastening her clothing enough for propriety before turning back to Samot, “Well, you’ve my forgiveness if I have yours. Would you like to sit?”

He turned slowly, as if to confirm that she was dressed enough to entertain, then faced her with a more friendly smile, tipping his head to the side in a gesture that was probably long habit from when his hair had been longer.

“Forgiveness all around, then. Somewhere to sit would be lovely.”

Corsica gestured him to the small couch in her room, taking her place on the chair facing it, “Please. How have you been?”

“Well, overall,” he assured her, taking the offered seat with a deep, heavy sigh. He sounded tired. Now that she was paying attention, he _looked_ tired, his steps slow and shuffling, his limbs resting heavily against the couch and pillows. With a slow deliberation obviously borne of effort, he rearranged the pillows so that he was more comfortable before looking to her. “Certainly very restful.”

She barked out a laugh, “Convalescing isn’t restful, it’s _boring_.”

He laughed softly in response, “Hence why I’ve come to visit.”

“Oh.” Samot gave her a shrewd look through his lashes at the guilt in her voice. She’d been busy. Everyone had been busy. They’d forgotten about him.

“I suppose that does make sense.” She said, her voice halting and weak.

He smiled, “I’m sure you all have been busy. And I certainly could have said something if I wanted your company.”

That actually didn’t help. Corsica didn’t cringe in response, but she wanted to. It was like he’d pulled the thoughts from her head, and uncharitable thoughts they were. She was pretty sure he couldn’t do that, but he was a god. He could probably do anything.

“I’m not Ephrim,” he said, allowing her to save face in the saying, “But perhaps you can share what’s been happening and I can offer advice? Or just a sympathetic ear—I’m sure you’ve got things well in hand.”

She told him a little, and when he proved an attentive listener, she told him more. Soon, she was sharing some of the deepest secrets of the university, and herself.

There was a lull in the conversation and he asked, “You miss him a great deal, don’t you?” She sighed reluctant agreement.

“I never imagined I’d be so close to a--” Follower of Samothes, she did not say, amending herself midsentence out of respect for her conversational partner. “--a man like him.”

“Devout?” Samot slyly asked. He clearly couldn’t leave anything alone, and tipped his head at her when she graced him with a disapproving glance. It may have been a charming gesture once, but it certainly wasn’t now.

“Also that,” she finally admitted, “Though not so much these days, I don’t think. Or more so, I can’t say.” She made a dismissive gesture. She wasn’t religious and never had been. It still shook her that Hadrian and Hella returned with news that Samothes was well and truly dead, but seeing that the quartet was still alive probably shook her more. Then Samot got hurt, and Samol showed up only to die. It was more than enough contact with gods for any person.

“I mostly meant someone who’s not Ordennan.”

He nodded his understanding, again allowing her to sidestep a conversation she didn’t want to have, “We do find family in the strangest places.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, if quietly. Ephrim _was_ something like family at this point, wasn’t he? He and Throndir, Red Jack and Chatterchin, Rosana and so many others.

“I suppose if anyone would know about finding family in odd places, it’d be you,” she said, eliciting a hum of acknowledgement.

When she looked up, Samot was watching her with attentive interest. He tipped his head yet again, this time lifting his hand to push back hair he no longer had before wrinkling his nose in consternation. It was such a normal expression that Corsica couldn’t help but feel a rush of protective fondness.

“It must be difficult for you,” she said, “Moreso than being a leader usually is.”

He smiled in response to her kindness, “Yes. And also no. Running out of time is rarely a concern.”

“That’s a likely story!” she scoffed, her light-hearted tone making Samot laugh hard enough to wheeze. The fact that people would gradually come back someday made it no less difficult to watch the ones present die or leave because of your failings. But she didn’t say that. Samot wasn’t the only one who could let someone save face.

“There’s a council, actually,” he confessed, “To help me keep the timeframes relative. I’m probably better about it than Samothes ever was, but we all have our skills.” He paused, expression going thoughtful and sad around the edges, “He’s grown a lot in Aubade.”

“The city in the sword?” Corsica asked, confident she knew what he was talking about, but wanting to confirm. He nodded.

“He had time there to become the kind of leader he never had a chance to be here.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” she kindly replied and knew from the suddenly mischievous look on Samot’s face that the next thing out of his mouth would be something ridiculous.

“No, Samol is the father of invention.”

Corsica groaned her amusement and stood up, offering him a hand, “Time to get you back to your rooms, my lord.”

He took the pro-offered hand and groaned to his feet, “I would do better with some wine.”

“Everyone thinks they would do better with wine,” she quipped before she remembered who she was speaking with. He let it go with a grin, though he held onto her hand.

“Walk me to my room?”

“Of course.”


End file.
